


Firebug and Hawkeye

by jenna_thorn



Category: Marvel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Police, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-06-06 08:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6747448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna_thorn/pseuds/jenna_thorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt of a police au, this became all about fires. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Heya rookie,” he called out, just to watch Teddy jerk. And to see Kate’s glare. Girl could glare better than almost anyone. The building behind them popped, something cooking off, and the firefighters all moved as one in response, like the clenching of a fist.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Firebug and Hawkeye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [james](https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/gifts).



> content warning: arson

“Yes, sir, please step back. Yes, back. Sir, you are leaning over very flimsy tape that is keeping people away from a burning building, could you please step … yes, sir, and you have a good day, too. Ma’am, please step back.” He sighed as Steve shouldered his big black horse to the edge and half a dozen people quit pulling at the tape. Gotta love civilians; they’d lean into a burning building for a selfie, but back away from the sweetest mare Clint had ever met. 

Steve waved him off and he jogged to where Kate and Teddy were trying to cover three barricades. “Heya rookie,” he called out, just to watch Teddy jerk. And to see Kate’s glare. Girl could glare better than almost anyone. The building behind them popped, something cooking off, and the firefighters all moved as one in response, like the clenching of a fist.

Clint pointed Teddy to the edge of the street, where the sidewalk was clear of their obstructions and blocked by looky-loos. He leaned in to Kate. ”You see your girlfriend yet? 

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Yeah, she’s not your girlfriend. This is where you say, “She’s a girl .. she’s a friend …”

“I will do no such thing, and your taste in tv sucks.”

“Well, obviously.”

“Yeah.”

“About as obvious as you and – Ma’am, please step back. Yes, ma’am, away from the tape.”

The building behind them puffed out a cloud of smoke, followed by sparks and two dark shapes resolved into monstrous humanoid shapes shuffling toward them, then cleared, like sound from static driving a rural highway, into the familiar bulky suits topped by helmets, one shelf standard, one painted red, white, and blue showing in reverse smudges through the soot.

They walked straight toward the ambulance, crossed by the EMTs dragging gurneys over the grass. 

“Hey, you get to give her a hero’s welcome.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Kate hissed.

Clint cackled but quieted as they got closer and Chavez popped the strap of her helmet off and gestured toward the oxy mask. Kate twitched, then moved, determinedly casual, toward the ambulance. Clint let her go and headed to the corner where a skinny teen with a fancy camera was climbing the tree they’d tied the tape to.

“Kid, if you fall out of that tree and take ambulance space when other people need it more, I’m going to be really fucking pissed off with you.”

“I’ll be careful?”

“Try saying that again as a sentence and not a question.”

“I’ve got a solid branch here, and a good grip, and evacuation’s complete.”

Clint glanced up. From right underneath him, he could see the face in the hoodie. He sighed. “Parker.” Parker wiggled his fingers in greeting, his eyes never leaving the viewfinder. “Just be careful, would you?” The wind that had died down kicked up again, and Clint watched the crowd of observers move and shift away from the acrid stench of and bonfire of cheap acrylic furniture. The smoke hung low, heavy and greasy, swirling around this side of the cleared area.

Parker sneezed twice in quick succession and the cellphones and their holders started to back away, finally growing tired of witnessing other people’s tragedy. Except one, oversized pants under a bulky jacket, too heavy for the season, much too heavy to be standing at the edge of heat still radiating from the building. 

He leaned into his handheld, velcroed to his shoulder, tapped it to 20. "Kate?”

“Yeah?”

“You still with Miss America?”

The handheld clicked and Chavez’s voice answered. “What?” She sounded like she’d been gargling gravel and glass. 

“Are we thinking arson?”

“Are we suddenly forensics?”

“Chavez.” He didn’t look back, wanted to keep an eye on the figure in front of him, but he let a little growl creep into his voice.

“Fuck, yeah, straight lines and splash on the walls. But you didn’t hear me sa --”

“Right, hand it back to Bishop.” He stooped, found a good rock, one smooth side, just a little larger than he’d like. He straightened and said, “Kate, you see what I see?”

“Where are y…oh. Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. It’s getting quiet. He’s losing interest.”

She said something, but it was lost in the squawk that the handheld became if he wasn’t focused on it. The throw was within his range, if he’d been fresh and not four hours over his standard shift, with a bad night before that, if he’d had a baseball and not a chunk of concrete worn smooth by kids tromping in and out of a building that fell into itself, pushing out oily black smoke into the air. 

Parker, above him, asked, “What’s going o ---“ and the figure at the edge of the neighboring building looked up sharply, straight at him, threw a hand signal that Clint didn’t recognize, tossed a lighter in his other hand into the air and caught it with a flourish, then turned to run, safe in the assurance that no cop would fire a weapon in a crowd of gawking bystanders. 

Clint threw, winging the rock across the corner of the lot, catching the kid right in the middle of his back. The kid staggered, dropped to one knee, and Steve on Sciath came barreling by, the mare passing so close to Clint that he stumbled up against the tree. Steve jumped as she galloped by, landing not on, but nearly so, right in front of the kid, bringing him up by the front of his jacket. 

That was the shot on the splash page of bugle.com the next day, Rogers hauling in the arsonist by his collar, Sciath prancing behind him like she’d made the collar herself, shaking her mane and highstepping. 

And the next Tuesday, as they gathered around a grill, because in this city, catching an arsonist meant hibachis and lighter fluid, Hill whistled, the three tone bosun’s shrill come-to-attention noise that cut through the precinct on occasion. “I have a gift!” she announced to the space at large, “for the hero of the day.” She held up in one hand a beautifully glossy Red Delicious. Clint applauded along with the laughter and caught the apple she tossed at him. He rubbed it with his thumb, as he stepped out of the hall and to the side, where the on call stalls were.

He stepped up on the box, rather than opening the gate, hooking his elbows atop of the wood. “How about we share it, hmm?” he asked, and took a bite, crisp and juicy, then held the apple down so she could pluck it delicately from his palm. They chewed in contented harmony and he rubbed the white blaze between her eyes.


End file.
